


In the Cottage By the Sea

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Takes, Conversations, Eleanor and Miranda meet, F/F, Jealousy, Pre-Season 1 fic, Secrets, Sex, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 21:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Eleanor goes to Flint's cottage in hopes of discovering his secrets. What she finds surprises her.





	In the Cottage By the Sea

 

Eleanor pressed close to her horse's mane, hunched down low in the saddle. If she were seen, she had no explanation, nothing other than her own need to know, and the desire to know more about Flint. The enigmatic pirate captain who had struck a bargain with, who hadn't looked down on her, or at her tits for that matter, who treated her as an equal. 

Whenever he was in port, he vanished. Rumors were he had a woman stowed away in a cottage inland, and whenever he wasn't out pillaging upon the high seas, he was supposedly balls deep in some Puritan cunt.

It both amused and disgusted Eleanor how men talked. Some of them tried to speak better around her, and some never bothered at all. She preferred the ones who didn't; she liked to know where a man's base instincts lay. She preferred to know what she was up against.

And she was jealous on some level, of this unseen woman, who apparently had such a hold on Flint that he went to her every time. How could one woman manage that? It was such that Flint never even so much glanced at another woman, and there were no shortage of women in the town who would have fancied a bedding with such a captain. 

Instead of accommodating them, he went here, to this cottage and the woman inside. Eleanor had followed him the last time he was at Nassau. Now the Walrus had sailed again, but she had ridden out here again, curious to see what she could make of this woman.

 

*  *  *

 

So far it had been a hot, fruitless venture. She wiped the sweat from her brow, murmuring calming noises to her horse's flicked ears and sat up in the saddle without thinking about it. 

There was no movement in the house, no sign of life. Was the woman even here? Eleanor shifted in the saddle, looking around. Yesterday Flint had opened the door as though he belonged here, as though he were certain of his welcome. Today the door was shut.

If the woman was gone...what would she find in that cottage? Nothing, Eleanor suspected. Nothing that would connect to Flint, nothing of him, surely. She could not imagine the fierce, sharp captain sitting there at table, eating dinner and engaging in polite conversation. He was not made for that, and neither was she. 

But she was tempted all the same to go into the cabin, just to see. In case there was something of him there, something tangible that would tell her something about this man that she was growing closer to, even as she suspected he would never let her wholly in. 

There had been no sign of the woman, she had to be out. Which meant she could return at any moment. Eleanor weighed her chances and slipped down from her horse. She looped her reins in the nearby bush, petting her mane once more, telling her that she'd return soon. And then slowly, softly, she crept to the house and touched the door. It swung open and she paused only a moment, weighing again the chance she was taking and then she stepped over the threshold. 

 

*  *  *

 

What she found was oddly disappointing. It was a perfectly ordinary little cottage, very tidy. There was a broom in the corner of the kitchen, evidence of a neatly swept floor. A kettle hanging over the fire, signs of a household, a home. 

In the front room, there were more signs of domesiticty. Knitting in a basket, bookshelves linining the walls. A musical instrument, that Eleanor brushed her fingers over, imagining the woman playing and Flint standing beside her, perhaps resting a hand gently on her shoulder.

She went down the hall to the bedroom and stood there in the doorway, trying to imagine Flint lying there with the woman. The bed was neatly made, there were flowers on the night stand and a book. There were books everywhere. That was the only that really allowed her to see Flint in the cottage. His cabin on the Walrus was full of books. 

Eleanor went back to the front room, knowing she should leave, but still curious. There was a book open on the desk and she went over to it, skimming a few lines, turning another page. Poetry? Did this belong to the woman, or to Flint? Did they read poetry together? 

There was a sound at the door of the cottage and Eleanor froze, her hand still caught between the book’s pages. She turned slowly. There in the doorway was a woman with brown hair and clear thoughtful eyes, eyes that appraised her carefully now and left Eleanor squirming in her boots.

“I…was looking for an acquaintance of Captain Flint.” She brazened it out, as boldly as she could. She wasn’t a coward, though she knew she was in the wrong here.

The woman set down the bucket she was carrying and folded her arms over her bodice. “And what do you want with an acquaintance of Captain Flint?”

“I merely wished to…talk.” Eleanor said, a trifle foolishly, she knew. But it was the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment, and there was a fraction of the truth in it. “The captain and I have some business treaties together and I wanted to…”

“You wondered if you could trust a man who kept a woman away in the interior and never spoke about her.” The woman said calmly. She lowered her arms, walking past Eleanor to the kitchen as though she couldn’t be bothered to speak any more.

“Well, yes.” Eleanor finished. She followed the women hesitantly, waiting to see what she would say.

“If my personage was relevant to your business treaties with Captain Flint, he would have spoken of me. As he didn’t, I can only assume he doesn’t know you’re here either, does he?” She shot Eleanor a look over her shoulder as she moved over to the table, taking the kettle from the table to hang it over the fire. Her bodice dipped low as she did and Eleanor caught sight of her full curved breasts. A rare heat spread through her and she looked quickly away. she’d seen women’s breasts before; that was nothing new and yet she felt caught out.

“No, he doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to see for myself who you were.”

“And who am I?” The woman turned, leaning against the table, watching her with warm amusement.

“Obviously someone he values. He’s taken great care to protect your identity.”

“You see that as protection and not hiding me because he’s ashamed?” The woman mused. “Interesting.”

“He’s not ashamed of anything!” Eleanor burst out hotly. “Why would you say that?”

To her surprise, the woman’s face softened. “It’s only that I’ve known him a long time, that is all. And sometimes I wonder…” She broke off. “Please, sit down.” She gestured to the table as she went over to take out two teacups.

Eleanor sat, confused. She’d simply wanted a glimpse into Flint’s hidden life and now here she was, about to take tea with the woman. She still didn’t even know her name.

“Well?” The woman went over to the fire and fetched the kettle.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to ask me my name?”

It was as though she was a witch, seeing right into Eleanor's mind. Eleanor flushed. “You could ask mine instead.”

The woman smiled as she poured their tea. “But you see I already know your name. You’re Eleanor Guthrie.”

Eleanor's lips parted in surprise. She caught herself swiftly enough but she had to know. “He’s spoken of me?”

“From time to time. He’s very fond of you.” The woman said. “And considers you an excellent business partner.”

Pleasure blossomed upon Eleanor’s cheeks as bright as roses. She stared down at her tea. None of this was what she had expected when she came here. Why was this woman so confusing and beautiful? Why was she talking to Eleanor as though she hadn’t caught her trespassing in her home? Why had she offered her tea for fuck’s sake?

“Very well.” She said at last, trying to compose herself. “What is your name?”

“Miranda.”

Eleanor held out her hand across the table. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Miranda took her hand and for a moment they were joined across the table.

 

*  *  *

 

“So.” Miranda said. “Now that you’ve seen me, are you going to take your leave?” She leaned back in her chair holding her tea with both hands as she surveyed Eleanor. It felt like a challenge and Eleanor took it as such.

“Not just yet.” Eleanor told her. “I’d like to talk a little while, if that’s all right.”

“Talk about…” Miranda let the words drift, waiting for her answer.

“You and Flint.”

“What about us?”

Eleanor tried not to bare her teeth and demand the woman speak plainly. What was there to hide between them?

“What made you come to the island?”

“We’d always discussed it.” Miranda said thoughtfully. She took a sip of teeth.

“But aren’t you bored here?” Eleanor pressed. “Surely a lady like yourself.”

“I have my garden and my house to run, music lessons to give. There’s plenty to keep me busy.”

“But still, it must seem dull after London.” Eleanor hazarded a guess.

“Yes.” Miranda’s voice held steady. “It is dull after London, but then most places are after a city of that magnitude. Still it’s nice to see a horizon, no smoky streets and fewer neighbors prying into your business.”

Eleanor flushed. “I…should be going.”

“I didn’t mean you.” Miranda said swiftly. “I was remembering London.”

“All the same.” Eleanor rose, and Miranda followed suit. “I should go.”

“Very well.” Miranda escorted her to the door. “Come back again, if you like.”

Eleanor glanced at her swiftly. “Do you mean that?” Surely she didn’t, it was only a civility tossed out, a habit of a former time.

“As you said,” Miranda smiled. “It is rather dull after London.”

“All right.” Eleanor nodded to herself. “I will.”

 

*  *  *

 

The second time she stopped by the wayside, her attention drawn to a patch of wildflowers, bold and blue. Without hesitating, she dismounted and picked a handful of them, tying them into a neat bundle with her hair ribbon, letting her hair fly free as she rode the rest of the way to the cottage.

She felt flushed and disheveled when she finally arrived at the cottage, but the surprise and delight upon Miranda’s face was worth it.

“How kind of you.” Miranda exclaimed, taking the flowers from  her, her fingers brushing Eleanor’s wrists, making her skin tingle.

“I wanted to bring you something.” Eleanor said. The words seemed awkward, but she had had no time to prepare a pretty speech, and no idea of what to say at any rate.

“Thank you.” Miranda beamed at her and it sent a rush straight through Eleanor’s body like a streak of fire. As she watched Miranda put the flowers into a white china vase, she looked at her wrists and thought how elegant they were, how she would like to kiss them and lie her cheek against them.

Her cheeks that were suddenly too warm as she thought of that. That and more, Miranda’s bodice spilling open to her and baring its delights. Miranda’s stomach with the slight curve and sweet hips. The dip between her legs, and her hair there, guarding her, would be as brown as her curls, or would it be fairer?

All this ran through Eleanor’s mind as she followed Miranda to the table and sat with her drinking tea, managing to give short civil enough responses in turn when Miranda spoke to her. Her mind was miles away, in the bedroom down the hall, thinking of what it would be like to lie there with Miranda in the afternoon sun.

“You seem distracted today.” Miranda cocked her head, studying her. “Is something on your mind?”

“I should be going.” Eleanor rose.

There was a brief flush of disappointment on Miranda’s face but she simply nodded.

Again they walked to the door and there Miranda put out her hand for Eleanor to take. “Thank you again for the flowers.”

“You’re very welcome.” Eleanor muttered. She took Miranda’s hand, and on an impulse turned it over and kissed the center of her palm softly and steadily. She didn’t know where the impulse had come from, but she had followed it and now she looked up into Miranda’s face, and then leaned up to kiss her mouth.

There was a brief exclamation of surprise and Miranda asked. “Are you sure?”

“Please.” Eleanor murmured, her mouth hovering close to Miranda’s as she spoke the word, “Please.”

Miranda took her face in her hands and kissed her then.

 

*  *  * 

 

The dream was not only a dream. The bed was softer than Eleanor would have imagined, smelling of linen and lavender, and Miranda. Her clothes slid to the floor with little thought and for the first time she felt a little shy as she stood before another person. But Miranda simply smiled, whispering, “You are so very lovely,” and those few words mattered all the more than all the compliments that any man had ever given her.

Miranda’s arms around her, Miranda’s breasts pressing against her own, Miranda’s mouth upon hers, Miranda’s mouth upon her. Eleanor lost track of all the places Miranda kissed her, marking out a map of her own making, a path that only she held the mystery of within her lips.

She laid beside Miranda in her bed, watching the afternoon sun through the open window.

“Dd you find what you were looking for?” Miranda’s voice broke through the silence.

Eleanor thought of her jealousy, her need to discover the secrets of Flint’s life, the hope that she would know something private and know him better, and the woman she had ended up discovering instead.

“No.” She wound her fingers through Miranda’s, bringing it up to her lips to kiss. “I found something far better.”

 


End file.
